I Don't Mind
by VegetarianFannibal
Summary: What did John mean by "I don't mind"? Fills in the gap between "I know ash" and "I have an international reputation."


After being kicked out of the last bar on their list, Sherlock and John stumbled drunkenly out onto the street corner, giggling and clinging onto each other to keep from falling over onto the pavement.

"Did you see the look on that guys face when you told his girlfriend he was cheating on her?" John managed to get out through bursts of laughter.

"It was so obvious, I don't know why he was even upset. Could you believe her face when he tried to punch me?"

"I just can't believe you tried to punch him back!" John cried before they both started laughing again.

Sherlock tried to stand up straight waved his arm haphazardly in the air. "Taxi!" he called out.

Soon a black cab pulled over to the side of the road and they stumbled inside. The driver sighed. God, how he hated drunks. "Where to?"

"Where d' we live, John? I'm afraid I've deleted it to make room for my own name."

"Baker Street," slurred John. "Two twenty… uh…"

"221B!" Sherlock remembered. "221B Baker Street!"

"Yeah, yeah, that one," John nodded.

The cabbie sighed once again and set out for Baker Street, eternally thankful it wasn't too far.

"This is fun, John. Why don't we do this more often?" Sherlock asked, resting his forehead on the window and watching as the lights of the city streaked past.

"I dunno, we should, we should," said John. "'Most fun I've had in… years."

"'S cold," Sherlock muttered, glaring at the glass of the window, quickly becoming fogged up by his breath.

"What?"

"Window's cold," Sherlock repeated.

"Jus' lean against me then," suggested John. "I'm warm."

"Hot," Sherlock murmured the correction under his breath.

"Wha'?"

"Nothing." The consulting detective removed his head from the window and shifted his body weight so he instead slumped over against John, his head coming to rest on the doctor's shoulder. Sherlock was just starting to drift off to sleep when a buzzing noise from John's pocket threw him back into consciousness. "Is that your phone in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" Sherlock slurred.

John chuckled. "Phone. Doesn't mean 'm not happy to see you though." He fumbled for a moment before finally retrieving the phone from his pocket without moving Sherlock and squinted at the screen which was altogether too bright and the text too small.

"What's it say?" asked the detective.

"Dunno," John shrugged. "Oh well."

Sherlock chuckled again and nestled his face into John's shoulder, suddenly remembering how much he had always liked the smell of the doctor's deodorant.

"Alright, we're here," announced the cabbie, pulling up in front of Baker Street. "Come on now, get out."

Sherlock sat up and fumbled with the door for a moment before opening it and stepping out onto the curb, John stumbling out behind him.

"One of you gonna pay?" asked the cabbie.

Sherlock pulled an indeterminate bill out of his wallet and handed it to the cabbie. "Keep the change," he insisted.

"Thanks," the man sighed, and drove away.

"Oh John, I'm so tired, I can hardly walk," groaned Sherlock, tripping over his own feet before John caught him around the waist.

"Come on now. We've just got to get inside," said the doctor, pulling his keys out of his pocket and squinting at them until he remembered which unlocked the door to their flat. After many failed attempts, he finally managed to get the key into the keyhole and unlock the door.

"Is that what drunk sex is like then?" asked Sherlock.

"Sometimes," said John, steering Sherlock inside the door and shutting it noisily behind them. "Alright, now we've just got to get up the stairs."

"Dear lord, forgot about the stairs," muttered Sherlock.

Together they staggered up onto the first step. Sherlock managed to get his other foot onto the second before John tripped, grabbed onto Sherlock's sleeve for support, and pulled them both tumbling down. They landed in a giggling heap at the bottom of the staircase.

"I guess we'll just 'ave to sleep here then," said Sherlock, sitting up and repositioning so his head was resting on one of the steps and his feet were at the bottom of the staircase.

"D'ya mind if I lay next to you?" asked John, squeezing himself in between Sherlock and the wall.

"No, no, course not," said Sherlock. "'S warmer this way. 'N you smell nice."

"I do? You just smell like booze."

Sherlock chuckled again in spite of himself and rolled onto his side to face John. "So was it fun?" he asked. "Did I… did I do a good stag night?"

"Best one I could've asked for."

"Really?"

"Yeah, you were there. You're m' best friend."

"Mmm, you're my best friend too," murmured Sherlock, his head dropping down onto John's shoulder again. "I'm glad you're back tonight. 'S lonely here without you. Can't sleep without hearing you snoring through the walls."

"…Sherlock," said John, acting on the pang of hurt that got triggered in his heart. As the other man looked up into his eyes, John registered for the first time just how close together their faces were and felt another, different, pang in his heart. "Sherlock, d'you mind if I kiss you?"

Sherlock grinned and chuckled. "I don' mind."

Sherlock barely had time to finish the statement before John's lips were on his: drunk, sloppy, passionate, and tasting strongly of alcohol. Sherlock wrapped one of his arms around John and pulled them closer than they already were, squished into the narrow stairwell. John moaned into Sherlock's mouth as the detective haphazardly threw one of his legs over John's hip and parted his lips to allow the doctor's tongue entrance.

Sherlock began to giggle as he felt John's tongue against his own. His laughter proved contagious, and soon John pulled away and started laughing too. Once they had managed to get ahold of themselves they wiped the tears of mirth from the corners of their eyes and the left over saliva from their chins.

"Best not tell Mary about that one," John laughed, laying back down and giving into the heaviness surrounding his eyelids.

Sherlock turned around onto his other side, a grin still painting his face. "Don't worry. Secret's safe with me. I'm good at keeping secrets. I have an international reputation… do you have an international reputation?"

After being informed by Mrs. Hudson that it was in fact not nearly as late as they had thought it was, Sherlock and John embarrassedly picked themselves up and wandered into the living room. Drunkenly cuddling and kissing in the stairwell was a lot less acceptable when it was only eight o'clock.

So, like any respectable couple of drunk best friends, they decided to play a game.

"Am I the current King of England?" guessed Sherlock.

John burst out laughing. "We—you know we don't have a king."

"Don't we?"

John shook his head and chuckled. "No."

"Your go," resigned Sherlock, leaning back in his chair.

John sat up in his chair, his forward momentum propelling him quicker than he expected, causing him to slip off and almost fall into Sherlock's lap. After a moment of staring between the detective's legs, John placed one of his hands on Sherlock's knee to steady himself and got back into the chair, still showing no sign of wanting to let go of the detective's knee.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows shot him a suggestive smolder. John shrugged and smirked as he remembered what Sherlock had said earlier. "I don't mind."


End file.
